


Play The Way You Feel It

by prettyonthethrone



Series: Evangeline [3]
Category: American Horror Story
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 18:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16791985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyonthethrone/pseuds/prettyonthethrone
Summary: “All the books say it’s normal,” Misty reminds her. “Your big, beautiful brain is makin’ up for the fact that there’s another little brain in there now, too.”“I just thought…” Cordelia says, sniffling and brushing away a tear.“I know, baby. Me, too. But I guess not even The Supreme is immune to a little bit of forgetfulness.”Or, five times Cordelia and her Coven deal with her pregnancy brain.Title is from Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.





	Play The Way You Feel It

**Author's Note:**

> We love an emotional, hormonal, crying mess of a Supreme. That's it, that's the fic.

. . .

_i._

“Cordy, are you making breakfast?”

Madison’s question is punctuated by a yawn as she enters the kitchen. She makes herself a cup of coffee and joins the other girls who are already sitting at the table.

“I am,” Cordelia answers, purposely not looking up from the stovetop to see the surely teasing look that Madison is giving her fellow witches. “I’m proud of you girls for finishing a trimester of teaching, so this is the first of a few things I have planned.”

The kitchen table already has a generous spread of cut fruit, toast, juice, and bacon. Cordelia has never been too comfortable in the kitchen — especially given that she’s had a live-in cooking staff for all the time she’s lived at Robichaux — but as she stares at the perfectly fine-looking eggs cooking in front of her, she feels a sense of accomplishment for having made all of this on her own.

Something about entering the third trimester of pregnancy had given her an overwhelming desire to engage in all sorts of domestic activities. More than ever, she found herself wanting to cook, clean, and organize (and re-organize) all of the baby clothes she and Misty had bought and received.

“I‘m not eating carbs,” Madison says from her chair, “but let me know when the eggs are done.”

Queenie rolls her eyes. “Bitch, fruit is not a bad carb. It’s from the earth. Coco, do your freaky shit and prove that there are, like, .02 calories in those berries.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Madison says. “I haven’t had carbs in two weeks; I’ll have to puke it all up if I start now.”

While the girls enter a (mostly) civil debate, Cordelia looks around for the spatula she could swear she’d had in her hand a minute ago.

Before her eggs can burn, she makes the decision to telekinetically bring the spatula, wherever it is, into her hand. She’s about to begin stirring when she hears Queenie’s voice rise above the chatter at the table.

“Cordelia, girl, what on earth are you doing with the TV remote?”

When Cordelia looks down, she’s clearly as surprised as the rest of the girls to see the remote control in her hand.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, and drops it on the counter. “Thank you,” she says to Queenie, face flushing pink with embarrassment. “Sorry, my brain is moving a little slowly these days.”

While she’s disappointed that she’s had another slip up in front of her girls, Cordelia knows she has to adjust at least mildly to this being her new normal. She’s already mistaken or completely forgotten a few words in the last week, not to mention getting teary-eyed over forgetting recipes for potions in the greenhouse — or her phone password a few days ago.

_“Mist?” Cordelia turns towards her wife, sitting next to her in their bed._

_“Yeah?”_

_“What’s—um… What’s the passcode for my phone?”_

_Misty looks up from the book of baby names she’s flipping through. She can see that Cordelia’s eyes are already glossy, and she wonders how long her poor wife had been sitting there, trying to think of the same combination of numbers that she uses a hundred times a day._

_“Hey,” Misty says soothingly, reaching a hand over to cup Cordelia’s face. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s our anniversary. 10-21.”_

_A tear rolls down Cordelia’s cheek and Misty wipes it quickly away. “I don’t know why I couldn’t remember that,” she says. “I know that. I know that I know that.”_

_“All the books say it’s normal,” Misty reminds her. She moves her hand to palm Cordelia’s belly. “Your big, beautiful brain is makin’ up for the fact that there’s another little brain in there now, too. It’s okay.”_

_“I just thought…” Cordelia says, sniffling and brushing away one more tear._

_“I know, baby. Me, too. But I guess not even The Supreme is immune to a little bit of forgetfulness.”_

“The spatula is in the drawer to your right,” Zoe offers with a smile, and Cordelia barely manages to grab it in time to salvage her eggs. She platters them and brings them to the table, and even Madison swallows her ribbing comment out of sympathy for the Supreme.

“Sorry, girls,” Cordelia says again, eyeing Zoe in particular to give her a thankful smile. “Hopefully they’re still good.”

“Of course they will be,” Zoe tells her as Cordelia walks back over to the oven. She’s about to check on her final addition to the breakfast when she hears her wife’s voice.

“Do I smell bacon?”

Misty walks into the kitchen and looks over the spread on the table. “Mornin’, girls,” she says before popping a piece of bacon into her mouth. She walks over to see Cordelia and kisses her hello.

“Baby, this is delicious.” Misty moves to stand behind her wife, wrapping her arms so that her hands can rest on Cordelia’s rounded belly. Misty kisses the shell of her ear and Cordelia rests her own hands over Misty’s. “I can’t believe you did all of this. You’re so cute.”

“I’m making your favorite, too,” Cordelia smiles.

Misty furrows her eyebrows. “I don’t smell biscuits.”

“They’re coming,” Cordelia says. “They’re in the oven now.”

Misty moans and kisses her ear again. “They’re so much better when they’re made in the oven than when they’re made with magic.”

“You know we can, like, see you guys, right?” Zoe asks from across the kitchen, her voice teasing but lacking any sign of annoyance.

Cordelia gives an apologetic smile before turning in Misty’s arms.

“They should be almost done, actually; they’ve been in there for forty minutes or so.” She walks to the oven, her wife following closely behind, and bends to open the door.

“Well, shit. They haven’t cooked at all.” Cordelia shakes her head. “Our oven must be broken.”

Misty eyes the digital clock on the oven, where, _when turned on_ , the temperature would display.

“But I just used it last w—"

Coco’s sentence dies on her tongue with a sharp look from Misty.

“That is odd, darlin’,” Misty says to her wife, who, with a disappointed look on her face, is conjuring the dough into cooked biscuits. Misty turns Cordelia away from the oven and rubs her back. “We’ll have the staff get someone out here to check it out.”

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia says, reaching for Misty’s hand. “I really wanted to make those for you.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I want something else for breakfast, anyway,” she murmurs, but apparently not quietly enough.

Madison fakes a gag. “Okay, now I’m really gonna puke.”

Misty laughs and kisses the side of Cordelia’s head before whispering that she’ll meet her upstairs. Much as she’s looking forward to having her wife, her stomach has been grumbling since she’d woken up and — made by magic or not — the biscuits on the stovetop are calling her name.

“Well, at least now we can use the oven,” Coco shrugs. “Zo, pull up the recipe for those muffins.”

“No,” Misty interrupts, barely swallowing the bite she’d taken on her way out. “No one is using the oven for at least two days.”

Coco shakes her head. “But we were going to make—"

“Figure it out. The oven is broken ‘til Friday, y’hear? I do not want to give her any more reasons to feel inadequate. She’s already losin’ her mind.”

Madison rolls her eyes. “ _You_ knocked her up, Swampy.”

“And?”

“And just because Cordelia’s off her rocker doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to pay the price.”

Misty’s eyes flicker with annoyance. “She is your Supreme, and she has sacrificed enough for this Coven to not have to deal with a bunch’a bratty babies. You bet your ass I’ll be makin’ damn sure she’s happy as a clam for the next three months. So shut your face and find another oven.”

Misty turns before she can get another word in, leaving several of the girls smirking and Coco and Madison to stare at each other.

“So Swamp Witch finally grew some balls,” Madison finally says, eyebrows high on her forehead. “I can’t say I’m not impressed.”

Coco scoffs. “Didn’t she beat the shit out of you once?”

“Shut up and find us another oven.”

_ii._

“Misty— _ah_.”

Misty takes a self-indulgent look up at her wife. Cordelia has one hand still tangled in Misty’s hair, her other arm thrown back to give her a grip on the headboard. Misty is curling her tongue when she sees Cordelia briefly remove one hand to wipe her face.

“Delia?” It’s then that Misty notices not just one, but multiple tears rolling down Cordelia’s cheeks. While it’s happened a few times that one of them gets emotional during sex — usually Cordelia, which Misty has found terribly romantic and sweet — it’s never been full blown _crying_.

Misty presses a gentle kiss to Cordelia’s clit and then another to her belly while moving to be eye-to-eye with her wife.

“Baby, is everythin’ okay? Was I too—"

“No,” Cordelia takes Misty’s face in her hands and brings her in for a long kiss. “No. Please, don’t stop.”

“But—"

“I think it’s just the hormones,” Cordelia says, voice cracking. “I’m okay. Please.”

Misty can hear the assurance in her wife’s voice and kisses her. “Okay,” she whispers. She’s about to begin kissing her way back down Cordelia’s body when Cordelia tugs gently on her face in protest.

“Wait. Stay here, with me.” Cordelia moves one hand to wipe a tear and Misty nods.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Misty promises. She kisses Cordelia’s eyes, as she’d done so many times when she first returned from Hell. Seeing their true color had been almost unbearably moving for Misty, and, even years later, she still thanks her stars that she gets to wake up to those eyes each morning.

It’s more difficult with Cordelia’s bump in the way, but Misty manages to get one hand down between her wife’s legs. Cordelia’s eyes close as soon as she feels Misty’s touch, and Misty leans down to kiss her as a new round of tears begins.

She feels mildly weird about having sex while Cordelia is practically sobbing, but she concedes that it’s not the strangest thing they’ve done during this pregnancy; three weeks ago, Misty was dipping pickles in peanut butter to make her wife’s requested snack.

“ _You are crazy_ ,” Misty thinks, smiling into her kisses. “ _Batshit crazy. And, god help me, I love it_.”

_iii._

“Um, Misty?”

Mallory walks hesitantly into the greenhouse, where Misty has an empty-page and a pencil between the litany of plants on the table.

“I’m real busy right now, Mal,” Misty says, only looking up at the girl for half a second. “Can it wait?”

“Well — yes — or, I’m not sure,” Mallory stammers.

Misty finally makes eye contact with the younger girl. “Out with it, darlin’. What’s up?”

“It’s Cordelia,” Mallory finally says, and Misty’s entire body straightens.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Misty is already shrugging out of the apron she’s wearing.

“She’s safe. Sorry — she’s fine. Don’t worry,” Mallory pleads. “It’s just that I walked past her office, and her door was closed, but she was crying. Loudly,” she adds.

Misty nods, already walking towards Mallory to leave the greenhouse. “Thanks for tellin’ me,” she says sincerely.

Mallory squeaks out a “you’re welcome,” but she thinks Misty is already probably too far out to hear her.

Misty is still at least ten feet away from the closed door of her wife’s office when she hears the crying. She knocks once and pushes the door open, closing it immediately behind her.

“Sweetheart, what’s’a matter?”

She walks over to the white wooden desk that Cordelia is sitting behind and, taking Cordelia’s hands in hers, helps her to rise out of the chair. Misty wraps her in a hug — tightly as she can, given the seven-month belly between them — and runs ringed fingers through her wife’s blonde hair.

Cordelia doesn’t reply, just sobs into Misty’s neck.

“Delia, you’re scaring me. Is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia cries. “Everything’s okay; the baby is fine.”

“Okay,” Misty says, finally exhaling. She lets Cordelia cry for another minute, waiting patiently while rubbing circles on her back and pressing kisses to her head. “Do you wanna tell me about it?”

Cordelia sniffles. “I’m sorry,” she says again. She pulls back just enough to wipe the tears from her eyes, which Misty helps with. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Misty gently squeezes her wife’s hips. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I was just looking over the girls’ progress reports and I was using a black pen and a red pen. And then I realized that all of the things I was supposed to use my red pen for, I’d been using my black pen for.”

Cordelia sniffles, and Misty hopes she isn’t actually _looking_ at her wife like she’s crazy.

“I had a whole plan for what to use each of my pens for, and I completely messed it up. I’ve been so determined to beat this stupid pregnancy brain so that I can keep up my work and not let the girls down.” She sniffles again. “I don’t want them to think I’m ever going to skip over my duties as their Headmistress or Supreme just because we’re having a baby.”

“Delia,” Misty says sweetly, brushing a piece of hair behind Cordelia’s ear. “No one is worried that you’re gonna fall behind. Black pen, red pen, biscuits, or none — they still respect and adore you more than anything.” Misty tilts Cordelia’s chin to kiss her lips. “These hormones are really out to get you, huh?”

“Mhmm,” Cordelia mumbles into another kiss, now almost desperate for the relief of being wrapped in her wife’s arms.

Misty turns both of them so that Cordelia is pressed between her desk and Misty’s body. The hand that isn’t wrapped around Cordelia’s back is finding its place on one of her oversensitive breasts, and Cordelia moans at the contact.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Misty whispers, and Cordelia is quite inclined to listen.

_iv._

“ _Dammit_.”

Zoe looks up from the eucalyptus plant in front of her and sees Cordelia looking defeatedly at her clay pot.

“Is everything okay?”

Cordelia shakes her head and, despite herself, says, “It’s fine.”

“Can I help you with anything?” Zoe asks regardless. She moves slowly around the corner of the table until she and Cordelia are on the same side.

Cordelia realizes that, with an empty pot in front of her and no idea how to proceed, she can’t make the ridiculous argument that she doesn’t need help. She thinks she should be glad that, of anyone that could be with her in the greenhouse, it’s Zoe. Understanding, patient Zoe, who had grown so much under Cordelia’s leadership that it was hard for the Supreme not to shower her with praise at every turn. Unfortunately, it almost makes it worse for Cordelia that it’s Zoe who is seeing her like this.

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia says first, as she finally makes eye contact with Zoe. “This is so embarrassing. I…I can’t remember my recipe for the sleeping paste I’m supposed to make. One of the girls,” Cordelia at least remembers not to mention the name of the young witch who had come to her in private with a confession of homesickness, “really needs it, and I’ve made it a dozen times, but—"

“It’s totally fine,” Zoe interrupts the rambling. “I don’t know it myself, but Misty has been writing them all down recently. She’s got this big book.” Zoe looks around, and Cordelia’s eyes follow her. “It’s in here somewhere. She’s been trying to make sure everything we have is on paper. I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it.”

“She’s been writing them down?” Cordelia asks.

“Yeah,” Zoe says, still looking for the book she’d seen Misty with.

“For me?”

This, and the shakiness with which it comes out of Cordelia’s mouth, makes Zoe stop her searching to look up at her Supreme. She’s about to clarify that she thinks the book is just _to have in general_ , but Cordelia looks like she may cry and Zoe doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Um, sure. I guess so,” Zoe says with a smile. “That’s definitely something she would do.”

Cordelia’s face shifts instantly, faster than Zoe’s ever seen it change, and Zoe knows she’s angry.

“Cordelia, I—“ She starts, admittedly having no clue where her sentence would even end up.

“Don’t,” Cordelia cuts her off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not the one who thinks I’m dumb enough to need a book of spells that I _invented myself_. That would be my wife.”

“Wait, but—"

“Please, don’t make excuses for her. It’s fine. She thinks I’m insane. Or stupid.” She throws her arms up. “And I probably am. At least this pregnancy is making me think I am.”

“Cordelia, you are nowhere near insane or stupid,” Zoe promises. She’s about to explain further, mostly out of fear of potentially being murdered by Misty, when she sees that Cordelia is starting to cry. “Cordelia—"

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia says again. She wipes her eyes and forces a smile at Zoe. “Don’t worry about this. I’m fine. Will you do me a favor and go check on how Mallory’s training is going?”

“Of course,” Zoe says, taking the hint that the other woman wants to be alone. “Of course I will. Good luck,” she says before slipping out of the greenhouse.

When the door is closed behind her, Zoe shakes her head in disbelief and sulks back to the house to find Misty.

“Fuck.”

_v._

Cordelia spends the entire late afternoon in her office, the door shut and locked. She leaves only to slip into the closest bathroom every half hour or so, and the one visitor she opens the door for is the staff member who brings her the food she’d had delivered to Robichaux.

It’s not until the moon is high and Cordelia has distracted herself with as much work as she can possibly do that she finally closes her laptop. She exits the office and finds the house as quiet as it should be, given that it’s a school night.

When she’s reached the top of the stairs — a task that becomes more and more exhausting every day — she’s unsurprised to see a faint light slipping through the gap between her bedroom door and the floor. She pushes the door open to see Misty, clad in her nightgown with a book in her hand, sitting up in their bed.

Misty looks up as soon as her wife enters the room, but Cordelia ignores her. She goes immediately to the attached bathroom, one of the best perks of the Supreme’s bedroom, to do her nightly routine.

She’s slipping into her favorite pajamas when she finally looks at Misty.

“You could have just told me, you know.”

Misty doesn’t even get a word in before—

”I would have wanted you to just tell me I was losing my mind and that you had to write down everything for me.”

Misty sets her book down and crawls across the bed to be closer to Cordelia. “Delia, I—"

“Seriously.” Cordelia grabs her hairbrush from the vanity and begins pulling it through her blonde hair, rougher than she usually would. “I may be as big as a house but I am still The Supreme. I can handle it.”

Misty gets off of the bed now so that she can stand by her wife. “Cordelia, will you listen to me? I wasn’t makin’ that book for you. I was makin’ it so that we have it. With the baby comin’, you and I won’t always be there to do every spell. I want Zoe and Queenie, maybe Mallory, to learn ‘em and have ‘em written down just in case.”

Cordelia’s face falls as the brush stills in her hair. “Oh.”

She sets the brush down and, eyes still focused on the floor, moves her hands slowly around her belly. She doesn’t look up at her wife for another few seconds.

“You must think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t—"

“You do,” Cordelia insists. “I know you do because _I_ do. I can’t remember my phone password or my car keys or the spells that I fucking _invented_ and I’m driving both of us nuts. I know it.”

“Baby, you’re forgettin’ something,” Misty says, and wants to smack herself as soon as the words leave her lips.

Cordelia instantly bursts into tears.

“Sorry, sorry, poor choice’a words,” Misty tuts. “I’m sorry. Come here.”

She pulls Cordelia into her arms and kisses her head. After a few long moments, Misty reels back so that, while she’s still holding Cordelia, they can look each other in the eye.

“What I meant to say is that _I’m your wife_. I don’t care if you don’t remember my goddamn name. I’m still gonna be here and still gonna be crazy in love with you.”

“I just thought I’d be immune to this,” Cordelia cries. “Why am I such a disaster?”

Misty offers a sympathetic frown and pushes both sides of her wife’s hair behind her ears. “You’re not a disaster.”

Cordelia sniffles. “I’m sorry I got upset with you over the book.”

Misty laughs. “It’s okay, baby. Now let’s get you out of this nightgown; it’s not doin’ either of us any good.”

. . .

After, when they’re sated and snuggled in bed, Misty has one hand around Cordelia’s back while the other rubs soft circles on her bare belly. Misty is sure her wife is asleep until,

“Mist?”

Misty presses a kiss to the top of Cordelia’s head. “Yeah, baby?”

Cordelia doesn’t look up, just keeps her head rested on Misty’s chest.

“The oven wasn’t really broken, was it? I just forgot to turn it on?”

Misty pauses, wishing she knew the best way to answer. She figures that either way could end poorly, so she decides the truth is best.

“It wasn’t broken,” she finally says, dragging out each word.

“So, you just lied? And the girls all lied? To make me feel better?”

Misty braces herself for an outburst about not wanting to be babied and having her Coven think she’s stupid.

“Yes.”

She’s about to open her mouth for a “—but—" when she feels Cordelia start to shake. Misty looks down and watches her wife’s face crumble all over again.

“That’s—” she sobs, “—so— _sweet_.”


End file.
